


Totus Tuus

by Dardrea



Series: Dulce Periculum [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bretons, Cyrodiil, F/M, Imperial City, Orcs, Orsimer - Freeform, PWP, Set in the Imperial City during the events of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Teratophilia, The Gray Fox - Freeform - Freeform, Thieves Guild, orc boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dardrea/pseuds/Dardrea
Summary: Spar's a Breton thief living in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil. The Great War is long done and the Aldmeri Dominion practically run the Empire. Undercurrents of discontent are stirring, war is threatening again in the far corners of the realm, but that all means little to her after she finds Nocturnal's Cowl and unwillingly takes up the mantle of the Gray Fox--and responsibility for the beggars, street kids, and thieves of the capitol. And as if all that isn't enough to deal with, the orc guard she saved from the executioner's ax is still hanging around the city...(Nah, really, this one is pure pwp. >;D)





	Totus Tuus

**Author's Note:**

> (Entirely Yours)

Spar and Uri lay together on the roof, side by side, watching the building across the way.

This was for him.

If this made him feel better about living the life of a fugitive, then she’d play along, even if she thought the idea of striking back for the downtrodden was laughable.

The corruption of those in power was inherent in the fabric of their souls. So it was in Cyrodiil, so it was in High Rock, in Hammerfell, in Morrowind, in Vvardenfell. It was the corrupt heart of man and mer that was to blame, not any quality of the Imperial government. Fighting back against them was like spitting into the wind.

But it seemed to be good for the street kids too, and the beggars, and all the other lost, ne’er-do-wells that had found their way to the sewers on the rumor that the Gray Fox had returned. She didn’t put the mask on much, but when she did she could see how they all fell into it. How they all _believed_.

In a cut-throat world where it was every man for themself, they believed the Gray Fox would watch out for them and that faith was the foundation of a terrible hope. She didn’t have it in her to take it away. If it was all they had, how could she?

He nudged her shoulder with his. “You’re not even watching.”

“I am.”

“Then how many guards just went in?”

“Five,” she said, snide.

“And how many just walked by on patrol?”

Well, fuck.

“One?”

He sighed, but she could tell from the tone of it that she’d been right.

“See!”

He shook his head but he was smiling.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. Surveillance doesn’t take more than one.”

_Surveillance_ , he said. Like there was anything more to this than casing the place.

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

It was her turn to smile though. “I had to get out for a while. You know how much I hate that daedra-damned sewer.”

He was quiet for so long it started to make her uncomfortable. She knew he wasn’t just watching the councilman’s house.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

She snorted, but he looked at her and the expression in his red eyes was so sincere the felt that pang of guilt again.

“Don’t start looking at me like that too,” she grumped, forcing her attention back to the house. “I’m not even wearing the mask.” He could remember, as long as she wasn’t wearing it, and when she was he still didn’t take on the adoring look the rest of the street trash gave her. Still too much a guard.

“You could have run.”

“So could you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

She winced. He wouldn’t because of his honor. It had meant something to him, being a city guard, even if it didn’t mean much to most of his former colleagues. He wasn’t willing to be chased away by the corruption in their ranks. Why wasn’t she?

She shifted uncomfortably.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you came with me.”

“I bet.” She hadn’t meant to sound so sour though.

She could feel him looking at her again but she was determined not to meet his gaze and see that admiration she knew she didn’t deserve.

“I got you something.”

She flinched. Damn it. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She still felt guilty about him, like it was her fault he’d ended up where he was, in the sewer with her and the budding Thieves’ Guild. It wasn’t where a man like him belonged. She didn’t know where, in the corrupt mortal realm a man that true would fit in, but she knew it wasn’t there with her.

He ignored her, holding something out, and she couldn’t help glancing at his open palm to see what he had. It was just a small cloth pouch though, too small for a money purse.

She looked at him, suspicious. “What is it?”

He grinned and cocked his head. “Open it and find out.”

She huffed and they both looked back at the house across the way. The maids were leaving for the night. Unusual that the councilman didn’t provide a room for them or any of the rest of his staff, except the old personal secretary that had served him since he was a young man. There was something to that, but they didn’t know what, yet.

She didn’t have to look at him to snatch the pouch, or to pull it open. It was light, but she could feel the ring inside it even before she shook it out. She blinked, glancing down at it. Copper and topaz and a little spark against her skin that warned that it was magic. There was a notch just next to the stone on one side, but someone had stretched the body of it back into shape where it had been slightly warped along the bottom.

“My ring?” she said stupidly.

He just murmured, a deep, rumbling sound that could have been a shy agreement.

She hadn’t cared about the cursed old thing, the last memento she had from home and her family—because she’d stolen it from them when she left—it was just that it had been so useful…

“You got someone to steal my ring back?” It was a horrifying thought. Shiny Tom’s men had taken it from her. She knew they were going to have to go to war at some point if they kept going like they were, but the Guild was too green and too unorganized to face his army of goons openly yet.

She held it closed in her fist like someone might reach out and try to steal it from her as they lay together on the roof.

She felt Uri shrug, the way their shoulders were still pressed together. “No. I found it at a pawn shop where someone must have unloaded it. Idhasa told me they’d taken it… when Tom had us… and she pointed out the shops where it was most likely to show up. Even if I was wrong, at least it was _a_ Ring of Night Eye, but I’d hoped… that is it then?”

She nodded, because she didn’t trust her voice.

“I’m sorry. Did I overstep?” he finally asked, when she still didn’t say anything.

She shook her head and brusquely tucked the ring away in its pocket. She’d have to figure out where she could sew a new one for it, since Shiny Tom’s men had found it there last time but for now it felt right to have it back where she had kept it for so long.

“No. I’m grateful,” she managed, but she knew how stiff she sounded, even if she didn’t know how not to be. “Why, though?”

Not that she couldn’t guess. He’d have blamed himself for its loss, probably. Stupid, honorable idiot.

She felt him shrug again. “It seemed right.”

“You shouldn’t have spent the money.” She knew he didn’t have much left and it wouldn’t have come cheap, sorry little ring that it was.

To her surprise he touched her hand, out on the edge of the wall where she’d grasped at the brick just to give herself something to hold onto. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I got myself into this. It’s no one’s fault but my own.”

But his hand actually covered hers, big and warm. Callused but gentle. She risked another glance at him and finally caught on, her eyes widening.

“I thought you didn’t go for kids.” Fuck her stupid, impetuous tongue.

He made a face but didn’t look like he’d taken her seriously. “I have it on good authority you’re actually of age.”

“I don’t know how you can tell, with us little pink-skins.” But she slid a little closer, so more than their shoulders were touching. Just because they had to case the councilman’s house didn’t mean they had to leave so much space between them. It was a cool night, wasn’t it?

“It is one of many challenges.” He curled his arm over her back, letting her sidle closer still.

* * *

He didn’t say anything else about it and they didn’t talk much more at all but it was nice, just being pressed to him like that.

She knew he thought she was better than she was, that there was some sort of altruism in her staying and playing a part in organizing the Guild, because it gave the street kids structure and supervision and the beggars a safe place and purpose. She knew he thought she had some personal stake in going to toe to toe with the corruption in this city that was so good at grinding the most helpless of its citizens down into the dirt.

She also knew she didn’t deserve his high opinion, but she’d take it, if it meant he’d let her snuggle close and just relax for a while.

Dawn came too soon, and she never would have thought she’d leave a night spent casing a house from a rooftop regretful that it was over. He helped her to her feet, though, and she let him. And when they clambered down the side of the building, back down to the street, he helped her the last bit until her toes touched the cobbles, even though she hadn’t needed help with that either.

She didn’t acknowledge it other than with confused, mumbled thanks, but she was starting to think he was angling for more than cuddles on a roof.

She sneaked a glance of her own at him as they walked together to the nearest sewer entrance. About damned time, if he was.

She risked reaching out to grab his hand, like she had that right, as soon as they were down off the street. He grinned at her and tugged her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, brushing her skin lightly with his tusks.

Her shoulders loosened but certain parts lower down tightened right up.

“Don’t go promising what you don’t want to deliver,” she said. The words were too soft and needy to be the warning she wanted them to be, or even the light flirting she’d meant.

“I’m a man of my word,” he said, leading her down the stair by that hand he still held.

She let him.

* * *

The sewers were a maze, but the few parts of it the street kids hadn’t already mapped out, the former Blades that had found them had let them in on. It was all Guild territory now, from the shallow tunnels that connected to the streets and cellars of the city, to the deeper ways, laid down centuries past for defense rather than sanitation.

A new city was forming down there, accreting out of a sludge of desperation and hope. The Gray Fox and her founding members of the new Thieves’ Guild had their own private living quarters, on winding paths that mirrored the streets of the world above their heads.

He took her to his.

They hadn’t gone faster than a casual stroll, but she was breathless when he closed the door behind them. They had space and they had privacy but there wasn’t much for luxury down here yet. The Guild was working on it though.

“Are you sure you’re interested? You weren’t before,” she couldn’t help asking, as soon as he released her hand.

He smiled at her, flashing white teeth and tusks. And gods, he was big. “I thought you were a kid.”

But she winced, and crossed her arms self-consciously. “That doesn’t say much for your interest in me. I don’t even strike you as a proper woman.” It still stung, she couldn’t have denied it.

He touched her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms as he stepped back to her. She had to put her head back to meet his gaze when he was so close. He cupped her jaw and touched his thumb to her lower lip. She opened her mouth and inhaled but wasn’t quite brave enough to taste him like she wanted to.

His pupils were dilated, making his eyes look darker.

“You are definitely _not_ a proper woman,” he rumbled. It should have been an insult but somehow it wasn’t. And then he was kissing her.

She had to go up on tiptoe even to meet him halfway, but he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her a little—fine, she was small, but he was _damned_ strong—and then it was easier. She was sure enough of his grip on her not to bother trying to cling to him, at least in any practical way. She cupped his face, his heavy, stubbled jaw, the hollows of his stony cheeks, and took control of the kiss, exploring his mouth with hers.

She’d never kissed an orc before; fortunately the underbite and tusks turned out to be less of a hindrance than she’d feared and the little sounds he made sent shivers down her spine. The way he seemed to devour her own breathless sighs made her almost faint.

The only issue she had with any of it was that they were both wearing too many clothes. The leather of her breeches and jerkin was thick and stiff and didn’t let her feel anything of him, especially through his even heavier gear.

He seemed to come to the same conclusion, at about the same time.

He sank down to his knees, and then sat back on them, and for a moment she was on his lap, her thighs around his waist, and _fuck her_ —but then he slid her off, setting her on her ass in front of him, her legs spread around his, leaving her blinking and panting in the sudden, unwelcome distance. He was already reaching for the straps on one of his shoulders.

Oh. Oh yeah. She grinned and laughed, and wasted no time tearing at her gear while he grinned back, his answering chuckle like a growl. It was a race, and one she was destined to win since her stuff was lighter and involved fewer layers. She stopped when she was bare-chested, and so did he, even though he still had his linen undershirt to go. He stared, and she resisted the urge to cover herself.

She wasn’t vain. What she had was good enough for a fuck and she didn’t care about anyone who’d suggest otherwise, but there was no getting around it that she was small all over and seeing her shirtless probably didn’t do much to disabuse him of the idea that she looked like a child.

The way he was staring though… it made her feel a little better. She’d crossed her legs while she was stripping and she rubbed her hands down her thighs, waiting for him to keep going, but he was still just staring.

“I swear I’m twenty-six,” she muttered.

“Thank Malacath,” he whispered fervently, startling another laugh from her, but when he reached for her she slapped her hands over her tits, leaning back and tutting at him.

“Not ‘til you catch up.”

In a single, smooth motion he caught the hem of his undershirt and turned it up over his head and tossed it at the pile of his breastplate and padding.

Saliva pooled in the bottom of her mouth and she almost choked on it. He didn’t have any right to be that— _perfect_.

He reached for her again and gently caught her wrists, pulling her hands away from her breasts so he could look at them again. The corner of his mouth kicked up and he let her arms go, cupping her breasts instead.

She didn’t come close to filling those big hands but she shuddered when they enveloped her. He was so warm it was like his skin was burning. His thumbs brushed feather-light across her nipples and she whimpered, arching into him.

“This is okay?” he asked; the dumbest question she’d ever heard in her life.

“Fuck, yeah!” she managed, panting.

“Shhh,” he said, his voice lightly chiding, and she might have teased him about it but he’d curved his hands around her ribcage and was pulling her back onto his lap— _gods!_ Yes, please!—and was sitting her up on him so he could reach her tits with his mouth—

She gasped at the first nuzzling brush of his lips. The way he rubbed his face from side to side, slowly, luxuriating, gave her the sandpaper scrape of his beard stubble, the dangerous friction of his tusks, and the softness of his lips, one after another, and that was before he gave her his tongue, warm and wet, drawing a trail of burning moisture from one nipple to the other. And then he gave her his _mouth_ , drawing one nipple in to suckle and tease with his lips and his tongue and the dangerous, sharp edges of his teeth.

Her knees were on his thighs, but she had no part in holding herself up. She couldn’t have, helpless in his hold, she clung to him, her arms around his head, as much because she was shaken to her core and lost in the sensation, as it was to keep him close and doing what he was doing.

He managed to get his hand on her other breast, to tease and possess that nipple too and she squirmed and whimpered, half sure he’d get to her come without even taking off her pants.

But then he adjusted her in his grip, releasing his hold on her breast, ignoring the pitiful mewing that wrung from her, rewarding her patience with another line of nuzzling kisses and one big hand sliding down her belly to the buttons of her breeches.

“Uri…” she murmured, and his answering _hummm_ made her squirm against that clever, delving hand, those deft fingers ably popping the buttons on her breeches one by one, until he was inside her clothes, and then his fingers were finally curling inside her and she went stiff with the need to press herself open for them.

“Still…okay?” he panted, but she couldn’t have answered, not verbally, not with anything but her own hand snaking down between their bodies to press over top of his and push, urging him on.

He chuckled, he purred, and the vibration against her skin make her squirm, but his fingers—damn, but he’d seemed useless when she’d caught one of the kids trying to teach him lockpicking and she’d been a little disappointed.

She’d been wrong to worry; his touch was light and his movements so persistent—

He twisted his hand, pressing deeper, his thumb on her clit.

“Gods, please don’t stop!” she whimpered. She’d wanted him inside her, his body, his cock, but if he didn’t finish what he’d started right now she didn’t think she’d survive. Darkness edged in around her vision and she closed her eyes, giving herself to the feeling. Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuckfuck—_

His chest heaved, he was breathing almost as hard as she was. Later, she’d make it up to him later, but now, gods, now…

He did that twist again, coated in so much of her wetness that his hand just slid, and her belly went tight and she arched and he nipped with his tusks at the bottom of her right breast and she came, sighing his name to that dim room so far below the city.

* * *

He let her slide down, the skin of their damp chests pulling at each other, his chest hair tickling her nipples, until she was on his lap, pressed, legs open against his crotch.

She tried to laugh when she realized they were both still wearing their pants, even if hers were open, but she hadn’t caught her breath yet. They were wearing their boots, even.

Clinging, she rested her forehead on his shoulder, trying not to squirm too much on the insistent reminder that she still owed him. She had every intention of making good on it, but for the moment she had to catch her breath.

He leaned down and kissed her temple, and then her ear. Her skin tingled where his lips passed but this was different and the tenderness of the moment made something uncomfortable shift inside her.

This was just for fun. Just a way to scratch an itch, no different than eating or drinking.

He caught her head with the hand that had been inside her pants and she could smell herself on it as he turned her head to press his lips to hers again. She sighed but leaned into the kiss and the embrace.

He was so careful of her, gentle now, and demanding nothing, it only made her feel guiltier.

“I’m not forgetting you,” she promised, her voice such a husky rasp she hoped he heard her.

She could feel him smile against her mouth, before he carefully nipped at her bottom lip again.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

Oh, that was really playing the honor act a bit too far. “Don’t I?” she asked archly, suddenly, deliberately rolling her hips against that stony bulge she was sitting on.

He caught his breath, a sharp, nearly pained inhalation that she echoed more softly. Maybe she was recovered enough—

She kissed him, and put her hand on his sternum and stroked that midline down his belly, until he caught her hand, with a soft laugh. She pulled away from the kiss and looked up at him.

Panting, obviously ready for more, he wore a strained, apologetic expression. “You don’t have to.”

She cocked her head, confused. “Well, obviously I don’t _have_ to, but I’ve been looking forward to getting you inside of me for—”

Looking nearly panicked, he shook his head. “You don’t—”

“You want me.” It wasn’t a question, she didn’t understand what was going on, but she didn’t doubt that much.

“Of course.”

“Do you want a blow job or something, then?”

She had no idea what that bug-eyed expression was, but it wasn’t disinterest. “Maybe we could try—”

But still, _try?_

Eyes narrowing, she pushed away from his chest, not giving an inch herself, forcing him to lean away. She couldn’t have done it if he’d put up any resistance, but he let her, watching her warily.

“What is this about?” she demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you were willing to shove your hand down my pants, to put your mouth all over my tits, but you don’t want to actually fuck?”

He winced, at the accusation or the language, she couldn’t have said. He was off-balance enough he didn’t even comment on her choice of words.

“Of course, I want to—”

But his eyes flicked guiltily away.

She started to feel cold and wrapped one arm across her chest just by reflex.

“But not with a thief?”

The genuine surprise that flashed across his features was a slight relief, though it only made it all more confusing. “No! You’re not a—you’re _more_ than a thief.”

A careful and pointed correction, but not one she could argue. She leaned forward against his chest again, glaring up into his eyes. “Talk to me then. What’s going on here?”

He inhaled deeply, leaving her riding the rise and fall of that heavy breath, but his gaze was earnest, if embarrassed. He touched her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you?”

“I—” he rolled his eyes and shook his head. She could feel some of the tension leave him, the moment he decided to just say it. Whatever it was. He caught her ribs and tilted her back so he could lean forward more comfortably. “You’re very… small.”

A flash of irritation. Not so small she couldn’t—and then she got it. The big, gallant dope.

“You’ve never been with a human before, have you?”

“Have you been with an orc?” he countered.

She laughed. “No. But I promise, I’m not made of glass.” She cocked her head, feeling playful again, now that she understood. “I can handle what you’ve got, green-boy.”

Catching a little of it, he shook his head again, an unwilling smile teasing his lips. “It wasn’t a challenge.”

She grinned. “Oh, wasn’t it? On your back.” She shoved at his shoulders.

It was a little easier to understand his expression now, though there was still a lot mixed in with that hesitance. “We could just—”

“On your back, orc, and I’ll show you how much a little Breton can take.”

He huffed, but he did, carefully, lay back, leaving her sitting astride his hips. He’d wisely chosen to lower them down over one of the thick fur rugs when they’d started so he wasn’t lying directly on sewer-brick. He crossed his hands behind his head.

“At least it’s a good view,” he muttered.

She ran her hands down her body, smirking at him. “Glad you approve of that much at least.”

“I—”

“Just hush,” she said, not looking for compliments.

For a moment she sat there, her hands on his belly just above the top edge of his pants. She spread her fingers and didn’t quite span his torso, even where it narrowed towards his hips. Her eyes flicked to his and he looked nervous and she could only smile.

“I’m not afraid of you, orc,” she said.

“Maybe I should be afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should,” she agreed, feeling that disquiet again. There was something there when he looked at her that she didn’t trust, but it didn’t have anything to do with being afraid of him.

She stood up and took a step to one side. His head turned, following her.

She grimaced, sinking down again to start working out of her boots. “Nothing graceful in this,” she said.

His lips twitched. “I could help?”

“I can handle it.” But she wiggled her brows at him as she worked her way down the laces on the right, loosening them from the top to ankle. “Unless you really want to hurry me along.”

“I wouldn’t _mind_.”

She was making a mess of the laces and he’d probably have noticed, but fuck it. She tugged the first boot loose and tossed it over her shoulder for effect. “Just sit back and enjoy the show,” she told him, even though there wasn’t much of one yet and even when she tossed the other boot and stood up her pants were already undone so all that was really left was to slide them down over her hips. She caught her smalls in the same motion, tugging it all off with her hooked thumbs, watching him watching her.

Maybe it wasn’t much of a show but it had held his attention and he licked his lips, panting softly. His gaze roamed her naked body as she repositioned herself over him, though she sat a little further down his thighs than she had before.

He shuddered under her when she reached for the buttons on his pants and his eyes took on a dazed sheen but he didn’t try to help or hinder her, keeping his hands pinned behind his head.

It took her some effort to pop the buttons, much more than it had taken him with hers, and her fumbling only seemed to make the work harder, pulling the material tighter and under a greater strain. She persisted, even when he hissed and grunted and shifted.

She shot him a sly look, hardly unaffected herself. “I can stop—if you’re still too worried…” she offered.

“Don’t,” he grumbled, and she didn’t know if he meant _don’t stop_ or _don’t tease_ , but either way, she couldn’t have denied the man anything when he was looking at her with such naked need.

She reached in with both hands to carefully work him free and he jerked up helplessly the moment her cool fingers slid around him. Then he was there, thick and hard, flushed so dark his cock was nearly black but shiny and paler and already weeping at the tip.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered and he groaned, still panting, still watching her, but her face now.

“You’re strange—” He cut off on a gasp when she circled him again, free of his pants, velvet-soft skin over his iron-hard length. And large, definitely. Bigger than the Bretons or Imperial she’d been with, thicker than the bastard Altmer. She squeezed lightly, sliding her fist from the root to the tip, reveling in how desperately he moved under her, in how his head fell back, making a submissive offering of his throat, even while she felt a certain genuine nervousness.

Before she could fret herself out of the need she was still riding, she angled his shaft and lifted herself up, scooting forward to seat him at her entrance. And take him in.

She was so wet that the first bit was easy, sweet as Aetherium, the way his body fit with hers. She groaned and he growled and she laughed.

There was more friction further down, a tightness, that could just as well have been the fact that she hadn’t had anything but her fingers in six months, but it wasn’t more than the sullen complaint of a set of muscles too long unused.

He was watching her again, intense, longing. Her hands, still on his belly, gripped him as she worked her way down on his cock and he reached for one of them, with a flattering tremble that she matched, and that only stilled when their hands clasped.

_So beautiful,_ she thought again, and squeezed her knees against him for the leverage to make that last, dragging push that seated him entirely inside her. His hand spasmed around hers, flexing, grasping.

“Fuck—Spar—” he panted and she wanted to tease him about the language, but she wasn’t capable of even that much.

Gripping his hand she managed to raise and lower herself a few times, only because she was so wet, so loose from already coming, and even with that, he filled her, his flesh dragged at her. She thought she might swallow her tongue. But Zenithar’s hammer, she wanted to make him come.

She moved his hand to her hip. “Help…” she murmured.

For a moment it just rested there, lightly. She rolled her hips and they both gasped. His other hand came to grasp her other side.

She’d thought he’d—she hadn’t really thought anything, honestly, it was all instinct and need by then, but his grip on her tightened, that iron-manacle strength, and she felt a flash of— _something_ —and he held her firmly in place while he thrust up into her, hard. And again, and again.

She couldn’t help the sounds she made, could only hope he understood they were of pleasure and not pain and he must have because, Dibella bless him, he only thrust up harder, grunting, holding her steady for every rolling shove. It was so good, so hard and so full and the only thing, the last thing she needed was just—her hand dipping between them, sliding over her clit, where he wasn’t quite reaching—

And she came before he did, again, and was too wrung out to fully appreciate it when he followed, though she rode out his bucking until he stiffened and stilled, and his hands slid away, letting her droop forward over his heaving chest, too tired to fully disengage yet and more than content to just keep him there for a few moments longer.


End file.
